


Homecoming

by Dragon_Of_The_South_Wind (Hoodie_2_Shoes)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Battle Scenes, Blood and Injury, Eichenwalde (Overwatch), F/M, Gen, Omnic Crisis, Plot, Post-Canon, Published in Zine, Stories From Watchpoint Gibraltar, War, hey itsa me breaking the heart of every character i love, i just want to write a fitting end for my love in case blizz ruins it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 06:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14395830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodie_2_Shoes/pseuds/Dragon_Of_The_South_Wind
Summary: Reinhardt never wanted any of this. Coming back to Eichenwalde that houses all his demons was the last thing on his mind, but the swarm of Omnics marching towards them would not wait. All he had holding him together was Ana, Torbjörn, and the metal shell of the man whose voice used to ring through the halls and call him by his first name. It never seemed to have left the castle, and Reinhardt had a feeling history has its own way of catching up.Inspired in parts by Gladiator(2000), Hans Zimmer’s soundtrack for Dunkirk(2017), the poem “Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep” by Mary Elizabeth Frye, as well as the land of Fólkvangr in Norse mythology.A fic-inspired playlist included below!





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my entry for the [Stories From Watchpoint Gibraltar Zine](https://storiesfromwatchpointgibraltar.tumblr.com/), a wonderful project dedicated to us OW fic writers! 
> 
> I remember brainstorming for the project with a Your Name AU McHanzo fic, but got stuck when the word count spiraled out of control. And this idea came to me in the shower, where there's this moment I found I _have_ to write this, if only for my own comfort and set on paper what I envision to be the closing chapter of one of the characters I loved with the entirety of my heart. It felt like a responsibility after some time, and yes, I cried several times writing this.
> 
> I've compiled [a little playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/22xxlmzenpp2fvyfzvxqr672a/playlist/7ADU3OzFmcXt1NQuTRWAfx?si=ku5T7_ivT_20iLtlFL6IUw) inspired by the story, more specifically Side B of the playlist, which is essentially a companion of this piece.
> 
> This work has been updated with several creative changes that couldn't make it into the zine due to copyright issues and some tiny formatting edits that slipped through.

 

 

_“When you awaken in the morning's hush_

_I am the swift uplifting rush_

_Of quiet birds in circled flight._

_I am the soft stars that shine at night._

_Do not stand at my grave and cry;_

_I am not there. I did not die.”_

_- <Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep>, Mary Elizabeth Frye _

 

 

 1

 

Canaries and ravens alike were silent that night. Hours before the roll call Reinhardt made his way, alone, to the Great Hall. Outside the moon sailed overhead and the last autumn leaves fell.

 

The throne room was empty, its wooden gates closed and barred. The hall was soaked in a soft yellow glow from the ancient lamps standing guard for the late Crusader’s tomb, breathing life into the castle long since reclaimed by time and tide of nature.

 

The carpeted floors absorbed the metallic echoes as Reinhardt strode across the aisle, his footsteps much heavier than the last time he walked over these sacred grounds. Helmet by his side, his body turned wide through the corners and kicked up flurries of disturbed dust. Tall banners hung proudly against the stone walls as the Griffin on the tapestry looked over the hall with a watchful eye.

 

Never could shake the habit, Reinhardt took a deep breath before making the final turn.

 

Silver moonbeams showered down from the skylight, glittering as they rested on Balderich’s armor, cobwebbed and overgrown with moss. The sight made him shiver; to see the majestic, battle-hardened armor of gold still intact and well brought back memories of the last great war. The wind howled against the window panes, and Reinhardt felt the cold seep through the impossible crevices in the stone. He knelt.

 

“I am home, Balderich,”

 

The name felt awkward spoken. Balderich wasn’t even in there; the military retrieved his body after the war, buried him somewhere in his mother’s hometown of Ulm, resting alongside his brother. What was Reinhardt even doing here? He should be preparing. He should be out there, getting the soldiers checked and running through the plan with the other Crusaders—

 

 _You have done enough,_ a voice within him reaffirmed. _Spit it all out. This is all there is left._

 

“Another battle is coming to us, Balderich,” he heard the weariness in his own voice and god, did it remind him painfully of his master. _Old man talk,_ the younger Reinhardt used to think, and now it filled him with bitter irony. “The Omnics will not leave Stuttgart alone. Now that I am in your shoes, it is not as funny as I remembered.”

 

“A couple of our men are back. I heard they have come to pay their respects. Sigmund came in his wheelchair too. Says he’s here to give counsel, that bald old bastard.” He chuckled. He could hear Balderich’s exasperated sighs every time Sigmund hauled around new recruits in the mess hall for ‘a chuck o’ the army wisdom’ that was nothing more than drinking traditions and tall tales of chivalrie. “I guess some of us just miss being around the place. Couldn’t really blame him.”

 

He shifted his knees, settling into the comforting silence as words come more naturally now. It almost felt normal again, just him and the old man in the bar after a long day.

 

“And what do you know, Germany’s been training a new batch without us. Even took in Waldo’s daughter. Fit as any recruit I’ve seen. Some of them are pretty half-cooked, but perhaps it’s better than a couple of old soldiers holding the grounds. Good to see some young blood around, you know. I suppose we needed that kind of energy.”

 

“I got us a healer too. Those health packs never were close enough, and running around in the armors is not exactly a walk in the park, hmm?” Reinhardt heard Balderich’s laughter, saw the knowing sideways glance and his master telling him off for trying to be clever. “She patches people up with a sniper rifle. The things they can do these days. Damned amazing aim too. I swear that lady could hit a pigeon in Berlin from here.” It brought a smile to his face as he pictured Ana standing next to him, elbowing him in the ribs at his preposterous claim.

 

“You should see what the new Overwatch is like, Balderich. The new members are incredible. You would get along with them nicely; all brilliant kids with that fight in them. There’s this twenty-year-old girl and already a soldier for her country. Can you believe it?” Reinhardt snorted at the memory of himself at twenty, a hot-headed mess dying to prove his worth. “And I thought I was young when you hauled me in.”

 

Reinhardt lifted his gaze, finding the moonlight having shifted to the armor’s helmet, reaching into the darkness of the visor. The sightless helm seemed to stare directly into him and spoke with its master’s gruff, amused tone: _Something else you want to talk about, bursche?_ The voice rang in his head like a bottled-up whisper adrift in the wintry breeze. Reinhardt’s relenting sigh turned to a breath of mist that carrying the weight off his chest.

 

“Everyone says they are prepared to die for this war. It’s horrible, Balderich, like you can’t do anything but watch them charge out there. I see so much of us in the young ones it scares me. Why, I am no great soldier, and better men than me have barely scraped through the last time around. One day I was the new recruit here, and the next they put the lives of dozens of men under my command. How did you manage? The thought of everyone around you dying, knowing you’re the reason they were standing on that front line?”

 

If the armor had an idea, it showed no sign.

 

“These rusty old bones can still stand a hit or two, but my people,” his head drooped. “I vowed to shield them. I vowed to shield you. If giving my life would let my men keep theirs I will gladly, but…” The lights gave a collective flicker as if in understanding. “I cannot afford to fail. To go through that a second time would kill me.”

 

“I am not made for this, Balderich. No matter what you think of me, I am no leader.”

 

The night stretched on outside the keep, the final barrier between them and their incoming enemies, no doubt already stomping through the woods. Yet, somehow, he felt less anxious now; as if the hollow armor offered him the comfort he was so used to when Balderich was still alive. The wizened Crusader would’ve heard him through all his worries, given him a solid pat in the back, looked him in the eye and said something Reinhardt desperately needed to hear. Even then Reinhardt knew he would shake his head and invite a challenging smirk from his commander. So many decades gone with the dust settled on the armor before him and Reinhardt saw the memories vividly. It seemed like yesterday that Balderich stood gloriously at the front lines and, more importantly, by his side. Reinhardt rose to his feet, steeling himself.

 

“But if you are out there, give them strength and courage. Keep them safe. Make it a favor for an old friend.”

 

 

2

 

Commotion in the dead of night was not uncommon in Eichenwalde, and the ruckus sent up nostalgia and dread in equal measures as Reinhardt crossed the courtyard, passing his saluting comrades and soldiers. In usual days Reinhardt would’ve sauntered over to every one with a cheery jab for morale, but this is no usual day. He was growing tired of wearing this grim mask of a commander. The thought that Balderich did this for years kept him on his feet, one step in front of the other. The least he could do was continue to act the part. He replied to each salute with an acknowledging nod, mouth set.

 

Torches lined the walls, sending wavering flames across the vine-infested stones. Beneath the firelight soldiers occupied themselves by inspecting their rifles and the crates of weapons. Ammunition passed from hand to hand with low mutterings that faded into the countryside ambiance. Here and there orders were shouted and the sound of hurried footsteps grinding on rocks followed close behind. The pre-war atmosphere hung heavy with gunpowder beneath the suffocating dampness of midnight.

 

Reinhardt turned left into the workshop, crouching to pass the doorframe. Torbjörn sat on a stool amidst a pile of metal parts, peering inside a Crusader helmet. His hand was reaching for a tool on the floor. Reinhardt gave him a nudge on the arm, and felt a twinge of guilt when the smaller man jumped.

 

“Hey.” Torbjörn poked his head back into the helmet. “A little light on your feet today, aren’t you?”

 

“Quite the opposite, I’m afraid,” Reinhardt settled on the workbench next to the engineer and winced when the plank creaked. “Almost done?”

 

Torbjörn grunted in reply. “Whoever made these really took the ‘spare’ part literally. I’m rewiring the visor so that people don’t yank off the circuit board with their damn hair. ‘Military product’, pfft,” He went back to sweeping for his tool.

 

“There you are,” Torbjörn did his characteristic little head-shake as his fingers found the screwdriver. “Where were you? Didn’t see ya back there in the courtyard.”

 

“Me or the screwdriver?”

 

Torb gave his signature _Reinhardt-please_ look.

 

“The Great Hall. Had some words with Balderich.”

 

“Ah, Von Adler,” Torbjörn returned to tinkering with the insides of the headgear. Reinhardt sometimes forgot how delicate the hands of the stocky man were. “Great man. Offered me the best beer every time I got around. Gone too soon, I’d say.”

 

“Don’t they all,” Reinhardt sighed.

 

“Still miss the man, eh?” Torbjörn looked up from his work, and Reinhardt found him at a rare moment of solemnity.

 

“Always,” he said, smiling gratefully. “I see him when I fight. I see him when I sleep. And I wonder how different things would be if he was still here.”

 

“That’s war. People die. In the end it’s all about who loses the least. Load of crap if you ask me.” Gingerly Torbjörn gave Reinhardt’s armored arm a tap. “Aye, I’m sure Von Adler would be proud of himself, saving the people and bringing peace and all.”

 

“One that didn’t last,” Reinhardt answered and his shoulders slumped forward. “Torb, if I don’t make it today—”

 

“Oh, screw you for making me a hypocrite, Reinhardt,” Torbjörn groaned, the tenderness draining out of his voice. He put his mind back on fixing the helmet. “I’m not hearing any of this.”

 

“Listen. she’s your girl. You know how she would feel about me coming back to all this. I thought she doesn’t need to.” Reinhardt said, deflated. The last he saw of Brigitte was a week ago when she was reading in her baggy white pajamas, legs kicked up and a steaming mug of tea on the study. He stood at his door for a long time just watching her flip through the hardcover, thinking of something to say but no words came. He couldn’t bear to look at the girl’s face if he told her the truth. She didn’t need to see his end, if this mission came to that.

 

He placed a hand on Torbjörn’s shoulder but not without caution to the tension there. “If the worst is to come, tell her I’m sorry. Tell her she’s the best squire any knight could have. Tell her that she deserved better than being stuck with an old—”

 

“Ya owe it to the lass to tell her yerself. I’m not helping.”

 

“This isn’t a mission where I’m feeling sentimental, Torb. This is war. People die. I have men counting on me.”

 

“No one is counting on you to die, ya oaf!” He snapped around to look the Crusader in the eye, fuming. Torbjorn fell quiet when he failed to hold Reinhardt’s pleading gaze. “Yer disturbing me work. Go outside.”

 

Reinhardt obediently backed away from his seat, and retreated into the courtyard, pretending not to hear the sound of tools dropping. He glanced up, hoping to find it closer to dawn, but the moon barely seemed to have moved an inch.

 

He found Ana on the overhead stone bridge, speaking with two men clad in tactical vests. Reinhardt climbed a wide well with spiraling steps, and was on the first flight when heavy footsteps stormed down. The echoes reached him before he could tell the source. A black lad in grey tights nearly galloped past and stopped dead before him, hurriedly sending Reinhardt a stiff and energetic salute.

 

“Commander!”

 

“At ease, Waffles. How’s everything going?”

 

“All fine, sir. Just helping Captain Amari out with a crate of grenades up there. I’m reporting to Lieutenant Lange soon.”

 

“Nervous?”

 

“Quite a bit, sir,” the young man gave an embarrassed laugh, unconsciously raising a hand to scratch at his stubble. “It’s my first combat after all. Everyone keeps telling me the real thing is not like the simulations.”

 

“Aye, that much is true,” Reinhardt said. “You’ll do fine out there, Waffles. Just remember to stay safe yourself, alright?”

 

“Yes, commander,” he answered brightly. Reinhardt gave him a tap on the shoulder and moved on.

 

“Commander Wilhelm?”

 

“Yes?” Reinhardt turned around to regard the young man. A look that reminded Reinhardt of the first batch of school children that visited Morrison’s statue back in Switzerland crossed Waffles’ face.

 

“It is an honor to fight beside you, sir.”

 

Reinhardt felt his heart sink, Balderich’s last words bubbling up from the depths and lingered like bile. How quickly they turn sour, words that fueled him through the rise and fall of Overwatch suddenly an unspoken prophecy in the face of war. He gave the young man an appreciative smile and concentrated on the steps that seemed to grow wider apart.

 

“...worries. I’ll look after our men.”

 

She saw him approach first and gave a quick two-fingered wave.The two soldiers turned around to greet him then excused themselves. Soon they were alone on the stone bridge, the brisk wind headed for the far north rushing past them, clawing across the grassy plains.

 

“Is it always so quiet out here?” Ana asked in a hushed tone.

 

“It has always been my favorite part of this place,” he answered and immediately felt stupid. Still she held her breath. “Stuttgart is always there in the distance, just us and the castle standing between the city and the unknown. Puts a lot of things into perspective.”

 

Ana closed her eyes against the breeze. Reinhardt caught the scent of her pouch of dried rosemaries. She always carried the token from their little garden of herbs in Gibraltar, for no other purpose than to have a piece of home with them, and Reinhardt needed that comfort now more than ever. He shuffled ever so slightly closer, and rested his arms on the stone fence, letting the wind carry his mind up and away. It was a vain attempt at trying to ease his head of the incoming destruction and chaos probably no more than leagues away, marching towards the castle as inevitable as the sunrise.

 

“You’re jittery,” Ana broke the silence.

 

“Am I?”

 

“I’m not half deaf and you’re not half subtle, Reinhardt,” she gave him a sideway glance, adjusting her rifle strap. “The Omnics out there might have heard you breathe.”

 

“Caught me there, captain,” he said with a laugh, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But this is not exactly like a cabana on the beach.”

 

“Don’t put too much pressure on yourself, Reinhardt. We have the ground advantage, and that strategy of yours,” she gestured her head at the soldiers stationed below. “You have to trust yourself as much as they trust you. And for now, that’s what they need the most.” She held Reinhardt’s armored hand, looking at him with a hopeful eye. “You were here and you survived. You won _._ And you will do it again. I expect nothing less from you.”

 

He sighed, then reminded himself to stand up straight. “I hope you’re right, my dear Ana,” he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, feeling her weight disappear into the suit of metal. “It would be nice for everyone to head home tonight, after a celebration around the fire. It paints a pretty picture.”

 

For the rest of the dying night they stood there, taking in each other’s uneven breathing. Reinhardt could’ve sworn he felt the forest come to life beneath their feet with nothing more than a soft murmur. Dawn broke with splashes of gold that flooded the horizon, the sun gleamed in its climb skywards.

 

“There she is,” Ana said.

 

“And we must get ready.” Reinhardt declared, his eyes already scanning the illuminated field. “The horns should sound at any minute now.”

 

 

3

 

The first blare came half an hour after they were in position, a low, mournful call that bled into the morn. The second followed slightly off their right. The enemy was coming straight for Eichenwalde this time. The army, now stirring in anticipation, was in position with two dozen Crusaders and their platoons of foot soldiers lined before him in an enormous arc that closed off half the forest. Reinhardt drew one last luxurious drag of oxygen, ignoring the audible thumping in his chest.

 

“Delta. Your cue.” Reinhardt said into the open radio line. “Tobias, you and your men to your spot. Stay low and wait for my—”

 

No one saw the third horn coming. Beside him Agnes cursed in German. Unrest swept over the troops like wildfire. _They’re everywhere now_ , was the first thought that came to his mind. _The bastards remember_ , was close behind.

 

“Commander?”

 

“They know our firestrike tricks,” his mind raced as he spoke, picturing the Black Forest with all its contours and slopes. “Echo I need twenty of your men to join Delta at their camp.”

 

Protests sparked across the comm lines; Reinhardt felt Agnes’ questioning gaze shift towards him uneasily.

 

“Commander we need—”

 

“Commander that’s almost half—”

“They are our greatest chance!” Reinhardt raised his volume to drown the outcry. “The last strike needs to be hard or it won’t work. They are spreading out, and they will try to overwhelm us in large but fewer waves. We have the numbers. We just need to hold them back long enough for Delta to come in. Are we clear?”

 

Spirited agreement offered him some comfort. Four Crusaders lead the soldiers into the thicket of trees far off west and disappeared. Near the outskirts of the woods flocks of birds went airborne accompanied by the sound of snapping branches.

 

“Alpha! Shields!” Reinhardt roared the command. Energy barriers hummed to life in a series of zaps. Soldiers crouched as they lifted their rifles. Reinhardt stood near the rear, growing unnerved by the second as all movement ceased. The very land held its breath.

 

“Torbjörn, turret status?”

 

“Good to go. Haven’t picked up anything.”

 

“Ana? In pos—”

 

The fluttering of leaves was their only sign. A collective flinch rippled through the whole army as a swarm of Bastion units stormed out of the woods, gunfire crackling like thunder.

 

“Alpha! Advance! Charlie, look for the thickest spots and throw them out!”

 

The battle exploded in a torrent of sparks and bullets. Reinhardt heard the explosions through his helmet, shots landing and dissipating into the energy barriers as the steadfast Crusaders planted their feet step by step forward. The leading Crusaders kept a slow march onwards as the soldiers held their fire steady. Towering firestrikes swooped across the battlefield, scorching the Omnics into nuts and bolts. Reinhardt turned towards the fort windows high above to see four shielded turrets pumping out rounds and tracing fiery arcs overhead. He guiltily found it much easier to focus on the maneuvering than he remembered.

 

“Ana, do you copy?”

 

“I copy. Clear view all around.”

 

“I need ground status for FEBA.”

 

“ Around twenty incapacitated units, maybe more. No sentry Bastions on FLET. All men are standing. Shields on the right are heavily damaged. Hold on—large numbers retreating. There’s movement in the woods.”

 

“The OR units. Bravo! Shields up and forward!”

 

The attacking Crusaders pushed forth, their barriers taking point as the frontliners retracted. Across the battlefront Reinhardt watched curved energy barriers spring into being. Another wave of Omnics surged out of the forest, guns blazing. He heard the distinct whir of Bastions shifting to sentry mode, followed by the rapid-fire rounds.

 

“Soldiers, focus fire on shields! Alpha! Firestrike at sight of sentry Bastions! Shields at standby!” Reinhardt barked.

 

Raging fires rolled across the plains, toppling more Omnics in their wake. The Omnic shields cracked and shattered, but Reinhardt could feel the troops’ single-mindedness grind down as another OR14 popped its shield in place. He stepped forward, trying to look for weak spots to break through.

 

Grunts of surprise boomed into Reinhardt’s earpiece with a torrent of sizzling. “What is it? Report!”

 

“This is Alpha Five, sir. There’s some kind of —hngh!—pulse charge pulling people together. Almost grabbed me and my men off our feet.”

 

“Reinhardt, they’re shooting these spheres that go through the shields. I think they’re energy-based. My bullets don’t do anything.”

 

Torbjorn shouted into the comm line, loud metallic clanking in the background: “Those graviton charges. We saw ’em at King’s Row! They’re taking tech from Null Sector!”

 

A graviton came hovering towards Reinhardt as they spoke. He just managed to pull Agnes out of the way before the sphere detonated with a pulse that spewed pillars of sand. “Everyone stand your ground! Keep away from the graviton charges! Crouch or hold onto something if—”

 

“Reinhardt, a shield in Bravo Two can’t take much more,” Ana said.

 

“Is it Tilda? Tilda, status!”

 

Tilda’s voice was worryingly strained. “Sigmund’s barrier isn’t charging fast enough, commander! We’re two man down! I Argh—they’re trying to focus down mine—”

 

The barriers before him were twisted into a slithering, disembodied line. Soldiers flailed and fell left and right across the ground. Emboldened, the Omnic army surged forward against the shields.

 

“I’m heading down,” Reinhardt lifted his hammer and stomped towards where the trench crew tended to Tilda’s injured men. “Agnes, take over. Report any formation changes on either side.”

 

Still going in for the kill. He could hear Balderich’s smirk. You have a deathwish, Wilhelm.

 

Tilda’s shield was barely holding together, spiderweb cracks strewn across the edges. Reinhardt raised his left arm and drove it down hard. His barrier jolted to life, a familiar counterweight at his side as he trod over to the struggling Crusader. “Tilda, fall back. I’ve got this.”

 

She nodded. “Three, two, one—”

 

Her shield retracted behind the griffin emblem on her forearm. Deftly Reinhardt swung the shield into the slot Tilda’s left behind. He felt the fusillade almost instantly as bullets pounded into the barrier and threatened to push him back. Gunshots grew deafening, the disorienting avalanche of noises making him wince.

 

Tilda was still catching her breath. He looked around to the men getting back on their feet. More graviton charges were sent their way yet caught nothing as the soldiers cleared away before the charges detonated. There was barely time to catch a breath between magazines as crates of ammunition arrived. Ahead of him the Omnic shields were melting away. The ground was littered with robotic parts and armor scraps, thousands of glowing sparks beamed across the battlefield like lightning shards.

 

“Torb! How are the turrets doing?”

 

“They’re doing—hargh—fine!” Came the grunted reply. The static of gunshots slipped through the comm. “Some broken shells and a malfunctioning calibrator, nothing vital. They should hold as long as the machines are shooting at them and not the mechanic!”

 

“Commander!” Agnes bellowed over the line. “Two enemy barriers down! One on the left, one in the middle. I think all the OR bots are out!”

 

“They’re short on shields!” Reinhardt shouted into his comm. He felt the tremors of excitement in the air. Through the line of his soldiers spirited battle cries boomed amidst the tumultuous explosions. “Take them all down!”

 

The Omnic battalion tromped across the field in an undeterred wall of machines, its leading row eviscerated in a blink as the front line cranked up its firepower. Then the second row fell. The third made a sizable approach before being completely taken out, and Reinhardt realized with a start that the no man’s land had shrunk to no more than a football field.

 

Hoards of Omnics fell, but not the wall. The wall was hundreds more Omnics strong, and right now the wall was winning. The brief taste of victory melted away from his tongue.

 

“They are trying to swarm us over!” Reinhardt cried. “Everyone back!”

 

Bronze-armored Sigmund appeared to take his position, leaving Reinhardt free to roam the front line and throw more firestrikes into enemy lines. The platoons swapped barriers twice more, each time recovering little.

 

“Tobias, you there?” Reinhardt asked across the line.

 

“Aye, sir.”

 

“Send out your sweepers,” he ordered. “I have a feeling we’re close.”

 

The exchange of artillery continued on. Barriers on both sides shrunk under the furious gunfire.

 

Occasionally Reinhardt would spot little capsules dropping from the sky, the containers bursting harmlessly into yellow fog above the battlefield. Relieved sighs of nearby soldiers followed the detonations that sent the biotic medicine drifting down. Reinhardt caught whiffs of the intoxicating drug here and there, working wonders as the strain in his arms and legs ebb away.

 

Reinhardt was hoping for the confrontation to end when Eradicators sprinted out of the woods on their two legs, launching red-hot beams that went straight through the barriers. One focused on his shoulder registering the searing burns to his skin. His heart sinks at the sight of Crusaders dropping their shields mid-fight in shock, men screaming under the assault of bullets. Two beams were angled skywards; at first he thought the aiming systems were faulty, until it occurred to him that they were going for—

 

“They’re going for the turrets!” Torbjörn’s panicked outcry was accompanied by the worrying sound of sparking electronics.

 

“Leave them!” Reinhardt said, just in time for him to duck as a turret exploded into flame and smoke. He could do nothing but watch. “You alright, Torb?”

 

Above him, a second turret coughed its final breaths. A bolt of energy sent debris raining down.

 

“I’m losing them all, Reinhardt,” Torbjörn sputtered between coughing fits. It pained him to hear Torbjörn this devastated.

 

“Get out of the smoke. We still need you, my friend.” He swung out a firestrike as his armor gave an alert ring. “The grenades ready?”

 

“Should be,” Torb said. “Hold on. I’m going up.”

 

“Hargh—Axel and Hot Rod down!”

 

The words Reinhardt feared came in the form of Willem’s breathless, cracking voice. _They’re dead._ The lights and noises around him faded behind his jagged breathing, his vision tunneling into the grayscale landscape and a deafening growl echoing in the walls of his head until everything rushed back louder than before. People were screaming all around him; the throbbing in his head wouldn’t go away.

 

“--peat, breach in Alpha Two!”

 

“ _Scheisse,_ ” the sudden rush of blood into his head brought the battle back into dizzying clarity. He lifted his hammer and launched into a gallop. _I am not losing more of them._ “Hold them back! I’m coming!”

 

All semblance of formation was lost in Alpha Two. What was left of the team was one Bastion away from being overwhelmed; the soldiers huddled behind the two standing Crusaders as they tried to sidestep the three Omnics working to round up the scattered men. Reinhardt charged in, slamming one into oblivion with his shoulder, following up with his hammer. He broke the robot’s head and the other one in half as they fell in a heap of metal before it could complete its arc. Several bullets gouged into the side of his helmet and shoulder plate during the brief window he tried to recover, the blows making his ears pop. He stumbled as Hans stepped in with his shield, his own HUD fizzling in and out of focus.

 

“Christ, commander, thank—”

 

“Not now,” he said, his exertion leaving him breathless. “Eyes on the enemy lines.”

 

“Reinhardt,” Torbjörn called, “Grenades ready to go.”

 

Five enemy shields up. The closest Omnics were less than eighty feet away. They had to take out at least half of the robot brigade in one go for this to work. Reinhardt shuddered, not entirely from the cold.

 

“Crusaders, forward! All barriers up! Prepare to engage! All fire on enemy shields!” He heard heavy breathing all over the comm line. “Torb, ready?”

 

“Aye,” was all he said.

 

The Omnics grew restless as the last few shields cracked, stepping forward and throwing out graviton charges that were too close in proximity to do any good. More Crusader shields were mowed down, but it was only a matter of time before any side would have the luxury for shields. The air itself was alight was tension; they were bringing to fight to the bots, with nothing but trust on the grenades working as they hoped. Reinhardt held both hands around his hammer, his body light and his heart lurching. He heard nothing but the rush of his own blood as one of their own barriers fell; then two, four—

 

They were close enough for him to hear the loud crack as the last two shields shattered.

“Grenades! Now!”

 

For a terrifying moment there was nothing but the unbroken rally of gunfire. Reinhardt spared an upward glance as three yellow glowing spheres sailed across the air, landing amidst the enemy with a muffled humming.

 

“Everyone down!”

 

Soldiers plopped to the ground; the Crusaders knelt and kept their heads down before retracting their shields. The last round of bullets from the Omnics hit no one. The gunshots paused and for the first time Reinhardt felt like laughing: _Bastards did not expect that._

 

A sonic wave blasted outwards, the wind whipping past them and shaking the grass, leaving a sudden vacuum of noise that rang in his ears. He rose with everyone else to the sight of a hundred paralyzed Omnics, twitching with an ugly zapping sound as their body parts spun and jerked in every possible way.

 

Chaos—of the most glorious kind—followed. The radio was almost deafening with the battle cry of a dozen men and women intercut between static bursts from the shock. A swarm of bodies cloaked in metal raced forward with nothing but blind fury and their hammers swinging, the satisfying _ker-thunk_ of robots disembodied and the Crusaders’ uproarious laughter flooded the battlefield. The soldiers resorted to emptying their clips into the unmoving Omnics, with shouts of exhilaration of their own.

 

The sight made Reinhardt a little giddy, and everything he had learned about being apprehensive on the battlefield was thrown out of the window. He sent a firestrike through a path to the right, collapsing a long row of Omnics. Shrapnels of metal and dirt flew everywhere as they carved through the sea of robots by the dozen. His hammer connected with the bots at the front with a wide swing, another handful neutralized, then another. He felt victorious. Alive.

 

“And stay down!” he laughed. He couldn’t help himself.

 

Reinhardt noticed the first signs of recovery when an Eradicator at the far end beeped wildly and trotted their way, its laser beam fissuring but in working order. Their force reboot mechanism had kicked in far sooner than Torbjörn had calculated. With horror he saw a silver Crusader armor venturing deep into the enemy backlines, wreaking havoc. Unaware.

 

“Hans! Get back! They’re wa—”

 

Hans turned around. Reinhardt’s words morphed into a shout as a Bastion in front of him spun and shifted in a lightning whir of gears, a half-sized tank in its place and its barrel at the ready. Reinhardt was already charging, but the Bastion didn’t plan to wait; the blast that sent itself and Hans flying apart rang out with a metallic clink, the following scream all the more punishing to the ears when it dragged on.

 

Reinhardt crashed into the tank, hurting himself more when the Omnic was merely swiped off to the side. He propped up his barrier in defense. Hans laid writhing on the ground, the dent in his lower torso smoking and charred, and he could hear the man’s pained hissing even without the mic. One blast from the tank almost sent him stumbling back. Agnes charged towards them, and hauled Hans up by the underarms with a grunt. Reinhardt planted his feet, gritting his teeth as he held off another blow. Everyone else fired at the rumbling tank to distract it, finally dismantling the Omnic in the process.

 

Reinhardt retreated behind the now erect wall of barriers, watching the men carry Hans off to the trench. He was suddenly gripped by a terrible soreness in his bones; first in the neck, then everywhere, all at once. He had to consciously force his legs to stand. “Charlie, Delta...stand by.”

 

“All units in position. Ready to engage, commander.”

 

The few Omnics left initiated another push, but they came furiously, the desperate Bastions not preparing to stock their ammo any longer as no less than a dozen tanks forged ahead, round after round pounding against their barriers, the explosions teeth-rattling. The Omnic artillery immobilized another Crusader with a broken shield, more units reporting in damaged barriers and wounded men. Choking screams permeated the air as Reinhardt tried to be everywhere at once, signalling the trench crew to the injured soldiers, filling in for Crusaders with their barriers down, losing his nerve at the enemies whose metal coats deflected their bullets with barely a scratch, closing in as they trampled over the remains of their fallen brethren.

 

He pushed his shield against the oncoming assault of gunfire and turned to Philip at the side, who was reading his hammer’s panel. He gave Reinhardt a dispirited shake of his head. “Torb! How long to the next charge?”

 

“Gon’ need a good ten minutes.” His answer left Reinhardt cold. _They would be tearing down the castle walls by then._

 

“I see more Eradicators coming, Reinhardt,” Ana said.

 

 _Oh Balderich, it’s my fault again, isn’t it?_ He thought to the heavens above, where the morning light dimmed beneath the drifting clouds. Reinhardt felt his master’s presence everywhere and nowhere, the regal air of command he remembered of the great Crusader bleeding into the ancient castle grounds, now overwhelming with the scent of gunpowder and cyclotol, the incessant barrage a low drumming in the background. Everything he felt was obscured by the dull aching in his limbs, straining against the weight of his armor and hammer.

 

Cracks appeared on his shield. A soldier beside him was hit in the leg with a shrapnel, collapsing. Reinhardt helped him up, a cannon sending his unsteady posture staggering back. His armor sounded a siren of warning; the light on his HUD blared. The closest tanks were right ahead, showing no signs of stopping as everyone inched back, soldiers scampering to the backlines, the Crusaders persisting behind their pitifully mangled shields—

 

“Sweeper reporting, all enemy forces dispatched! The last of them are trickling out, sir!”

Reinhardt sensed a shift in the atmosphere, from the Crusaders around him, the men in the back, all the way across the valley of trees where the other teams were holding on to their weapons, waiting. All they needed was the sweeper’s word, and his. The foreboding anxiety in the air tipped, and everyone braced their ground. It almost made Reinhardt’s heart stopped beating, the suspense coiling around his neck as he barked:

 

“Delta now!”

 

Still the Omnics pushed on, relentless. Unforgiving bullets ricocheted off their sides as more of the Crusaders shields fail. He heard the growing roar of a sandstorm as a thunderous wall of fire swept across the field from the East, the heat baking the air and searing holes into even the tanks. The remaining Bastions regained their composure and redirected their fire on the newly arrived army of resistance, the Delta troops charging in as the ground trembled.

 

Cheers erupted and everyone at his side followed up to the assault, catching the Omnics unaware. Reinhardt tailed the Crusaders’ formation as he held his shield up for the soldiers trailing behind him, rifles rattling away. The Omnics were fenced in, their blasters hesitant when the attack came from both sides. He could spot several units backing off slowly.

 

“Charlie troops! Engage!”

 

They approached the battle with much more subtlety, a silent procession behind barriers that not enough Omnics saw coming until their hammers shook the earth with a violent crash, shattering some into pieces and leaving more stunned. Alpha, Bravo and Delta troops fanned out in a wide, uneven echelon, shoving everything caught in between into the hands of the Charlie Crusaders whose hammers struck with every swing. Eradicators and OR14s were easy picks then; the tanks kept the Crusaders on their feet, but it was only a matter of time before the cannons run dry. Reinhardt followed up with a firestrike, only to have his visor cracked by a stray bullet, spiderweb veins taking up the entirety of his HUD.

 

“Visor damaged, Commander Wilhelm breaking comm,” he said. A soldier at his side gave him a winning smile and a gloved thumbs up. The gesture was infectious. “Let’s clean this up, people. I’ll see you all back inside,” he added, to the huzzah of many.

 

Gingerly Reinhardt peeled off his helmet, and the cacophony of the battleground, finally unobstructed, bombarded his ears with its chaotic overlays of a thousand explosions. He flinched at the torrent of head-splitting noises; it was so disorienting he didn’t notice at first when he lost his bearings and tipped over, the brunt of the fall restoring that awful ringing in his good ear. A much larger explosion shook him out of his stupor, and he looked up to see a Crusader towering over him, a barrier between them and the now cluttered group of Omnics. For a second the battered armor seemed unfamiliar.

 

“I have your back, commander!” Waffles hailed brightly, his smile a glorious thing. Reinhardt gave the lad a grateful nod and rose, wincing with every stretch of his limbs.

 

“Ana, everything good?” he asked. There was no response, and then he remembered his helmet.

 

Reinhardt turned to face the castle right before the cannon struck the watch tower, a gush of flames belching from its stem as billowing smoke spouted into the air. Chunks of stone crumbled and fell as cracks slithered along the wall. He heard the shaky gasp that escaped his own throat, a sudden coldness hitting him at the core that only escalated when a hooded figure emerged from the fumes. Ana steadied herself on the balcony, calculating the drop that Reinhardt deemed unimaginable.

 

He dropped his hammer and ran as fast as the hefty armor on his back would allow and pushed his body for more. “Ana! Ana! Hold on!” She lifted her gaze to meet his, a second of unspoken fear passing between them before Reinhardt watched, horrified, as another blast struck the pillar. Ignoring the calls from behind, Reinhardt activated his rocket charge, screaming her name as the tower folded onto itself, and sent a whole column of stone tumbling down with a resounding groan.

 

Ana managed to stand, positioning herself on the skyward-facing side as it fell, unfathomably slow. No way he could charge under the collapsing tower in time. He forced his mind to clear; now was as good a time for a plan as any.

 

_Use the rocket. Time it right._

 

_This is suicide, not a plan, Balderich._

 

_You speak as if that has stopped you before._

 

He went off a little right on his path, panicky hands snatching off every armor plate on his arms and shoulders. Ana drifted further and further away from his sight as he charged towards the middle of the plummeting tower. The blasting wind blotted out every other sound, hurling rubble and sand across his face as he tried to blink them away. Reinhardt counted down the beats as the falling structure got caught in the confines of gravity and accelerated: _three two one and pull—_

 

He pushed on, harder, as dust and rocks rained. He summoned every muscle in his body, shifting all his weight to the left, and swerved, now running parallel with the stone column. He could almost touch the tower as it inched dangerously closer to his head. “Ana! Jump! Jump!”

 

Reinhardt tried his best to match his pace with Ana’s as she sprinted just that ahead of him, and felt his knees go weak when she leaped and took off from the building still ten feet above his head. She dived across the air; Reinhardt spread his arms and leaned forward; no, too fast, _go back—_

 

Reinhardt arched his back as Ana narrowly misses his face and dropped directly into his outstretched arms with a weighty _plop_ and an “oomph!”

 

“Haarghhhhh!” Reinhardt mustered all his might to draw his trajectory outwards, feeling his shoulder graze the walls and burn before it landed right next to them, the unearthly force of the sky crashing down at their feet knocking them sideways into the air, Ana tucked in Reinhardt’s arms as his momentum carried their bodies along the wind until they slammed into the ground with a violent lurch and Reinhardt’s pained grunt. Sand crunched beneath them, pummeling on his armor before they ground to a halt.

 

The air was thick following the crash as everything settled on what’s left of the world, Reinhardt taking a moment to register the earth on his back as his muscles screamed. Distant gunfire. Reinhardt heard someone call his name, and opened his eyes.

 

Ana’s face was directly above him, anxious then slackening in relief, her snowy hair all tangled and wiry and dusted with sand, a bleeding cut on her cheeks and another on her forehead. Her eyes raced across his body and grew apprehensive. She fumbled for a needle in her bag, miraculously intact.

 

Reinhardt sits up with a wince, and a laugh escaped him. There was a jab on his forearm, just below the holes ripped into his sweatshirt where patches of skin had been peeled away, revealing bright red patches oozing blood. The drug made his whole body unwind almost instantly, the pain retreating into a groggy corner of his brain.

 

“Oh Reinhardt, how bad is it?”

 

“Just a scratch, my lady.”

 

Ana wound around him in a fierce hug, her breathing disheveled and coarse.

 

“Don’t you ever do that again.”

 

Reinhardt was too busy catching his own breath, Ana’s heaving chest pressed against his. For a moment the battle was somewhere far away, growling deep and unyielding like a distant storm.

 

“Commander!” An anxious voice wafted through the thinning smoke.

 

The drifting dust cast a hazy veil around the field. Reinhardt sat up straighter to see, swallowing a sharp pain that shot through his spine. Agnes lumbered towards them, shouting. Her shock of neon green hair was hard to miss.

 

“Can you hear me, commander?”

 

“I’m fine!” Reinhardt called, “Captain Amari too! Get back to—”

 

The wind rose, peeling back the shroud of the battlefield where the Crusaders centered in on the entrapped Omnics. The first sign that spelled disaster came when Reinhardt spotted a broken link in the formation where a circle should be, a worrying gap between two ravaged shields.  Everything unfolded before him: the dust cleared, revealing a fallen Crusader unit laying several feet away, struggling. A blast struck the ground, and the two exposed Crusaders were knocked sideways. There was no longer a mere opening; the formation itself broke in two.

 

Reinhardt never knew if it was part of the Omnic’s precious few strategies that worked or just a blind shot; he was still lagging behind when a tank barrel clunkily turned their way, and he was gazing into the black hole when the scene finally clicked.

 

“Agnes!”

 

A cloud of flames bloomed, no more than a puff with an explosive crack in the distance, as the munition charged towards them in a ball of fire. The sound and Ana’s horror-stricken look was enough to make Agnes turn without questioning and raise her shield. She leaped into the way, the shell missing her barrier by inches, diving towards where they sat.

 

Reinhardt was reminded of his abandoned armor, the pieces holding his own shield now lying in the sand. That was his last thought before wrapping himself around Ana, tightly, spinning around to face the empty stretch of land away from the battlefield. His face was buried in Ana’s fluffed-up hair, ashes dusting his nose and chin. Ana wrestled to push his arms away but they wouldn’t budge. Not like they had during the pair’s training sessions, where the captain would slide from Reinhardt’s headlock almost effortlessly and pin him on the mat with a turn of her palm. “You’re not even trying,” then came her grumbles as he passed her the towel, laughing.

 

He remembered those too.

 

The shell was right behind now, his ears and gut told him so, descending with a whistle like a speeding train.

 

“Rein—”

 

No room for even any thought upon impact when the instant was split in two. The blow threw him into the air before the heat even reached him. The deafening roar he heard belongs to an echo; the pain was almost suspended by the sheer force of the blast before catching up and dousing his back in flames.

 

He felt Ana slip from his grasp. He rolled in the sand, the earth chipping away what was left of his armor. He lost track of his hands, his legs, his back. Only the searing pain and an awful sense of disjointment from his own body, his mind awkwardly lagging behind the other parts of him that inertia couldn’t quite hold from tumbling forward. He saw the ground whirl past, then a flash of blue, and the ground again, on and on and on until there was no telling which was which. His ears took in nothing but the unbroken ringing that quickly grew dreadful.

 

He slowed, then stopped, face down as the chest plate jacked him up from the surface. He couldn’t bother to turn; the stagnant air pressed heavily on his back like a hot, glowing brand. There was that feeling of detachment again, like his mind was somewhere else entirely, the pain something abstract.

 

Beneath all the static he hears a faint sizzling, too close for comfort. It was difficult to tell it apart from all the white noise, the multitude of ringing and hisses and the occasional screeching, made harder when Reinhardt himself wasn’t sure if they came from inside his head or out. He was too worn out to be frustrated. He regained little control over his limbs as numbness gnawed at his muscles. He couldn’t even turn his neck without feeling like it might snap. Broke something, most likely. The sensation was nothing new to him.

 

People were running, the ground trembling in waves under the armored footsteps. Towards him or away? A small part of him prayed for the latter. Abruptly he saw several pairs of feet around him, clad in metal and leather, stopping dead in their tracks.

 

Someone spoke. The words slipped away like sand.

 

They were trying to remove his armor plates, with much more care than he was used to. Something ripped from the skin on his lower back, and Reinhardt heard himself cry out, a muffled and humiliating sound. He gritted his teeth through the pain, almost growling as it became plain they weren’t just blisters. Then he felt a hand tug at something sticking out of the back of his neck; there was nothing but numbness there.

 

A gentle voice, slowly breaking through the ringing. “...around, yes?”

 

Hands gripping his torso and limbs tried to turn him around. The sharp breath he drew brought in something other than air; he felt his lungs sank, wet and heavy and throbbing. He rested on something soft: A cloth? Oh, how it’s going to get ruined. He can’t even begin to imagine the blood.

 

He forced his eyes open. Looking down on him were Agnes and Tobias, grave and overcast, his second-in-command blinking furiously. Near the top of his vision the light was fractured; mosaics and prisms of color shone fiercely against the wide stretch of blue above. He was grateful for the working eye, for now.

 

“Bad?” he croaked, every syllable a labor.

 

Agnes reached for his hand. It stung, and he tried his best to squeeze back. “We will patch you up in no time, Commander.” Her voice was suspiciously raspy, but Reinhardt said nothing. Everyone knew. Of course they knew. He sputtered a cough as if on cue, warm blood dripping down his chin. His chest felt as if it collapsed inwards, a troubling wheeze escaping him with every mouthful he swallowed.

 

He saw a spot of gray in the corner of his eye, and lolled his head to the side in spite of himself. Ana trudged next to him, her face stricken, lips trembling. There was a limp in her steps, and Reinhardt blamed himself. Who else was there to keep his dear lady safe?

 

_Who else now?_

 

He couldn’t bear to look her in the eyes. As Tobias rose to make room, she knelt, ever so graceful, with a palm resting on his side. It was all fingers: slender and calloused, no gloves. They were cold, but soothingly so. She had only held him this morning, and yet it seemed like ages had passed since he was reminded of how strong her hands were, how safe they made him feel. Even now they took some pain away.

 

Torbjorn stumbled into view, panting. With his head bent he muttered in Swedish something Reinhardt couldn’t understand. His friend was covered head-to-toe in soot, his beard a jumbled mess of blonde locks; a funny sight, and the tickle invited a wet cough that rattled his ribcage. His chest felt as if it was holding up the sky.

 

“What are you doin’ here? Someone get him over to—”

 

Ana sent him a glare that said everything needed to be said; Reinhardt waved dismissively. Torb’s huffs of disbelief were loud, and his trembling voice threatened to rip Reinhardt in two.

 

The next gulp of air he drew burned like nothing else; all the way from his throat fire raged and left him feeling jagged. Ana’s grip on his arm tightened at his sharp breathing, heartbreak written all over her face when he finally dared to look.

 

Reinhardt was powerless to hold them back, tears spilling as his voice cracked: “Hurts…Ana...please...”

 

“Shhh,” her own voice shaking, “Soon, my lion. Soon.” She wiped away his tears with one hand, smoothing back his hair with the other. She looked around; everyone but Torbjorn took the sign and left, disappearing from his sight with plodding steps.

 

Torb leaned forward, wiping away the dirt and everything else on his face. Reinhardt heard his voice thick and choking, clear as day: “You go on ahead, you hear me, ya oaf? No turning ‘round. Brigitte’s safe with me. They—they’re goin’ to have all the beer yer ever—”

 

He cut himself off with more curses. It might be the closest he was to falling apart Reinhardt had ever seen. “What were ya thinking? What were ya thinking you idiot?”

 

Reinhardt offered an apologetic smile to his friend, struggling as he raised a hand for a weak backhanded pat on the man’s bare arm. His usual farewell went unsounded: _See you around, dwarf._

 

Ana’s lips were set; the syringe was already in her hand, the other still thumbing over his mane. He almost wished it could stay there forever, just by how soothing it was. She mustered a smile: “Listen to me, Reinhardt. You’re going home, okay? I’ll make sure everyone’s fine. You have my word.” Sniffles slipped through, try as hard as she might to stuff them away.

 

He nodded. Words were growing difficult to come by, but he managed, softly: “...miss you...my...lady.”

 

Reinhardt could see her break into pieces right then; her arm hovered over his neck, the needle stubbornly afloat. He raised his palm with all his might and gave her trembling fingers a light shove. The small prick almost went unnoticed. Ana let out a light gasp, shaking.

 

The light began to trickle away, enveloping the world in its eclipse. Reinhardt tugged at Ana’s hand, kneading every inch of her skin, holding on for warmth as long as he could. The shadow Torbjörn had cast shifted away, and the warm rays of sunshine brushed his cheeks, as velvety as he imagined light could be. Ana leaned forward to plant the sweetest kiss on his forehead. He closed his eyes and could’ve sworn he saw a bald, bearded face peering down, smiling.

 

Beneath the dust and smoke, beneath the rosy copper scent of blood, he might have caught a faint whiff of rosemary, when the flowers bloomed in spring.

 

 

*

 

 

_“Do not stand at my grave and weep_

_I am not there. I do not sleep._

_I am a thousand winds that blow._

_I am the diamond glints on snow._

_I am the sunlight on ripened grain._

_I am the gentle autumn rain.”_

_- <Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep>, Mary Elizabeth Frye _

 

 

The sun is setting, has set, will set. Reinhardt treads across the open field, a sea of shimmering golden wheat lapping away at his waist.

 

The stars come alive, breathing. Behind them lays a twilight dome, filled with the most vibrant shades of violet and orange and blue beyond the reach of the eye. It is always the dying light of dusk whenever Reinhardt looks up, the blood red sun lingering right at the edge of the world. Night is falling, has fallen, will fall.

 

He has been wandering for ever and no time at all, his only compass the ridges rising from the skyline in the distance. What he soon sees ahead of him makes his heart leap: the towering silhouettes of Eichenwalde castle perching atop a single hill of green, a smoky grey ribbon against the cloudless sky trailing from the chimney as a hearth fire burns somewhere. But there never was a wheat field this close to town; the familiar stretch of the Black Forest is nowhere to be found.

 

The castle beckons him with a silent calling, and every step through the parted wheat stalks sends through him a shot of ecstasy, the peculiar sense of belonging and discovery that urges him ever on. His panting grows louder, but he never felt more alive as the looming stone walls slowly inch towards him. Soon he goes near enough to see the humongous shadow it casts on the ground and hears the faint whispers of—

 

Music. Shrill brassy tunes of a harmonica, and loud, drunken singing. A favorite song of theirs, of lilies in the lamplight and a woman named Marlene, the words slurred together and interspersed with laughter. Reinhardt misses it so much his heart aches. It sounds very much like home, with all its seasons and notes that never seem to age. The chorale wakes the air and everything around him with the spirited chants. He walks faster then, making waves in the field as the heavy grains swayed beneath the breeze.

 

Near the wall is the old pine tree, tall and green and still going strong. The leaves are dense enough to leave a pool of shadow underneath, so dark he almost doesn’t see the trunk.

 

And the man standing beneath.

 

Balderich Von Adler steps into the light, eyes crinkled in an amused smile as he greets: “Never thought that scar would look good on you, Reinhardt.”

 

His chest clenches at the gruff, hearty baritone, every joy and sorrow that came upon hearing the voice flooding back like a river. Reinhardt stops dead in his tracks, soaking in pieces of the sun leaping off Balderich’s unmistakable beard, and bursts into a sprint. He races towards him, crossing the distance like crossing eternities.

 

He throws himself around the man with his vision blurred. It was exactly how he remembered: suddenly he becomes the fifteen-year-old at his mother’s funeral, alone in the world save for Balderich, his shoulders and his kind, firm eyes that promised him the world. Strong hands patted him on the back, his master’s soft chuckles as clear as summertime rain.

 

“Took you long enough, old friend,” Balderich said. “Welcome home.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This project has been completed for quite some time, and funnily enough revisiting this as it was delivered to my doorsteps, bound with ink and paper, just taught me how much this project has helped me grow as a writer. But I'm no Stephen King, so this is uploaded without any narrative touchups.
> 
> Homecoming is the first piece I've taken beyond typing for fun and something I made to confront my storytelling and personal views with, and being my first published work I owe a ton to our organizer PinkRambo and my betas for every assistance they provided along the way, reining (no pun intended) in this beast in its early stages into a much more presentable work. Same goes to every writer that are in this together. 
> 
> This is that one piece that will probably stick with me for a long time, so thanks to everyone who rode along till the end. Next on my plate I have my debut of an R76 fic for a HUGE zine planned, so stay tuned!


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